


War in the Next Room (Chapter 7 in the Sins of Omission series)

by LeslieFish



Series: Sins of Omission [3]
Category: Highlander - All Media Types
Genre: Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-01
Updated: 2002-01-01
Packaged: 2019-07-07 00:49:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15897519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeslieFish/pseuds/LeslieFish
Summary: Cassandra shows up. Joe referees the fight. Chapter 7 in the Sins of Omission series.The rest of the series is currently archived here: http://hlfiction.net/series.php?seriesid=78





	War in the Next Room (Chapter 7 in the Sins of Omission series)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in A Kind of Magic, a hard-copy fanzine in 2002. In 2003, it won a Fan-Q award at MediaWestCon for Best Highlander Gen Story.
> 
> https://fanlore.org/wiki/A_Kind_of_Magic_(Highlander_zine)

  
Methos felt the vibration of another Immortal's aura seconds before he heard the soft knock on the hotel room's door. The feeling was familiar, but he couldn't imagine whom it could be. Not Amanda again, anyway. But who else would have known that Duncan was here, in Scotland? For that matter, who else would have known Methos was here?  
  
He glanced again at the sleeping figure on the bed, looked at the clock and winced at the time. Who in hell would be here at eight o'clock in the morning? Definitely not Amanda. Methos picked up his sword and held it behind his back while he opened the door.  
  
There stood Cassandra.  
  
Both their jaws dropped as they recognized each other.  
  
"What are YOU doing here?!" they both said, simultaneously.  
  
While Cassandra drew breath -- and felt under her coat, doubtless for her sword -- Methos stepped out into the hallway and shut the door behind him. "All right," he growled. "Are you here for MacLeod or me?"  
  
"Do you think I'd take one step out of my way for you?" she snapped back. "I have to talk to Duncan."  
  
"Not now. He's asleep, and he needs it."  
  
"I'm not leaving until I talk to him, and you won't stop me."  
  
"Talk to him all you want, but wait until he wakens by himself."  
  
"And I'm supposed to wait until YOU think the time is right?"  
  
"Dammit, woman, he just buried his best friend yesterday! Let him rest."  
  
"I know about Connor! That's why I'm here."  
  
"Well, don't fight out in the hallway," said a third voice.  
  
They both turned to see Joe emerging from the next doorway down. He'd put on only a bathrobe and his plastic legs, but had obviously been awake for awhile. "You're starting to get loud, you two," he said. "If you're going to argue, come do it in my room. I'll referee, if you like."  
  
Methos and Cassandra glowered at each other, then turned toward the invitingly opened door. Cassandra beat Methos to it, but not by much. She took a quick look around the room, then went to the small table and sat down on one of the chairs. Methos hesitated a moment, then took the other chair. Joe sighed, and lowered himself to the bed.  
  
"Okay," he said. "What's it about this time?"  
  
"I need to talk to Duncan," Cassandra glared. "HE--" pointing to Methos, "--won't let me."  
  
Methos rolled his eyes. "I just said to wait until he's awake."  
  
"And how will I know when that will be?"  
  
"Use your famous magical powers!"  
  
"Enough," Joe cut in. "Cassandra, Mac really is there, and he really is asleep, and it's been a really, really bad week for him. You can wait here until he wakes up, if you want, but let the man rest."  
  
"He really shouldn't be alone..." Methos started to rise.  
  
"Oh, and you'll go tell him I'm here, and persuade him to sneak away?" Cassandra retorted, gripping the arms of her chair.  
  
"God, listen to yourselves!" Joe roared at them. "You sound like a pair of squabbling kids. I'd go sit with him myself, except that I can't trust you two alone together."  
  
Cassandra and Methos exchanged vile looks, but sank back in their chairs.  
  
"Okay, so we'll all sit here until Mac comes calling by himself," said Joe. "Methos--" he cut off the man's automatic protest, "Mac's a big boy. If he wakens alone, he'll know where we are. Cassandra, nobody's going to keep you from talking to him. Now that we've got that settled, does anybody want breakfast?"  
  
Methos and Cassandra exchanged defiant stares. "No," they both said.  
  
"Swell. I'll just send for coffee." Joe reached for the phone and punched in the number for room service. Methos and Cassandra continued to glower at each other. _Like little kids, playing 'chicken',_ Joe thought. _God, thousands of years old, and they’re no smarter than this?_ "Coffee for three, cream and sugar, room 6," he ordered into the receiver. "Soon, please."  
  
Methos either lost or cancelled the chicken-game by looking at Joe as he hung up the phone. "For three?" he asked.  
  
"I think we're going to be here awhile," said Joe, "So, we can either watch the morning news on TV and make small-talk, or we can get down to the nitty-gritty and settle this mess. Which is it?"  
  
Methos badly wanted to say that he'd prefer the morning news -- hell, he'd prefer a cooking show or an infomercial -- but he knew it wouldn't work. "Let's get on with it," he muttered, sinking down in his chair.  
  
Cassandra glared at Methos again, but said nothing.  
  
"All right," Joe pushed ahead. "Cassandra, what did you want to see Mac about?"  
  
For an instant her cheeks flushed. "It's private," she said.  
  
"No doubt." Methos flicked her an ironic smile. "If you're hoping to comfort his sorrow the old-fashioned way, Amanda already tried that. It isn't enough."  
  
Cassandra's eyes blazed. "That's not what I meant, you filthy-minded animal!"  
  
"So speaks the wolf-bitch of Donan Woods," Methos retorted. "Duncan told me about your shapeshifting games."  
  
"Enough!" Joe cut in again. "Jesus, can't you two stop sniping for one lousy minute? Methos, cut the cute humor; this isn't the time or place for it. Cassie, just try to imagine for once that Methos really might have Mac's best interest at heart."  
  
"Him?" she sneered, "Anyone's interest but his own?"  
  
"Methos, shut up," Joe cut off any reply. "Cassie, kindly remember that until a short while ago you hadn't seen Methos in three thousand years. I repeat: three--thousand--years. Did it ever occur to you that a man can change in three thousand years? Or are you telling me that you never did?"  
  
Cassandra opened her mouth, shut it, then tried again. "The other Horsemen didn't."  
  
"And they're dead," Joe reminded her. "If you'll recall, they died partly because of Methos. That does indicate some sort of change, don't you think? This isn't the same man you've hated so merrily for so long."  
  
Cassandra gave Joe a sullen look. "So he's become a repentant angel?" she growled, "Trying to make up for his past with good works? I don't think so."  
  
"You wouldn't," Methos riposted. "If I put on sackcloth and ashes, and went to work in a leper colony, you'd think I did it just to collect and sell the teeth as they fell out."  
  
Cassandra was fumbling for a reply when the doorbell rang.  
  
"That's the coffee," said Joe, getting up. "Don't pounce on each other before I get back."  
  
Methos and Cassandra retreated to silent glaring. Joe opened the door to let in the busboy with the coffee-tray, who proceeded smartly to the table and set it down, obliging Methos and Cassandra to move away from each other. There were three carafes, three cups and spoons, a good-sized pitcher of what turned out to be half-and-half, and a real bowlful of sugar. Joe tipped the busboy and sent him off, then poured himself a cup without waiting for the others.  
  
"Okay," he went on. "Where were we? Thrust or parry?"  
  
"Parry, I think," said Methos, reaching for a carafe.  
  
Cassandra snatched the third carafe for herself, poured her cup full, added cream and sugar. "I'd like to know what HE's doing here," she said to Joe, flicking another glare at Methos.  
  
"I'm here as Duncan's friend," Methos sighed. "That's all."  
  
"He does need his friends right now," Joe added, "All that he has left."  
  
"That's why I'm here." Cassandra paused for a moment, then came to a decision. "I came to warn him about the danger from a certain friend."  
  
"Me, of course," said Methos, not looking at her.  
  
"No. Connor."  
  
The other two nearly dropped their cups, recovered, and stared at her.  
  
"Connor?!" Methos almost shouted, while Joe brushed at the fresh coffee-stains on his bathrobe.  
  
"He wasn't the saint Duncan thought he was," Cassandra went on grimly. "I met him about eleven years ago. He wasn't what he seemed."  
  
Methos opened his mouth on the perfect retort: _Not entirely heterosexual, you mean? Immune to your best wiles?_ Then he thought better of it.  
  
"What was he really, then?" Joe asked.  
  
"A wizard, as I'm a witch." Cassandra set down her cup. "From various Quickenings he'd gained psychic ability, the power to cast illusions, other things. He didn't know how to control his powers, so he came to me for training."  
  
"Did you give it?" Methos couldn't help asking.  
  
"I tried. He wouldn't take it." She gave Joe an unfathomable look. "Like Kantos, he wouldn't accept the ethical system."  
  
"My way or the highway," Methos muttered.  
  
Cassandra ignored him. "Connor had his own ideas of right and wrong, and he had some plan in mind that he wouldn't tell me about."  
  
"Oh, crime of the century!" said Methos.  
  
"You shut up," Joe barely glanced at him. "Cassie, could you make any guesses?"  
  
Cassandra fiddled with the handle of her cup. "He had a personal mission, to make sure that no evil Immortal ever won the Prize. I think he meant to use his psychic power to identify and track down anyone he thought of as evil."  
  
"Sounds familiar," muttered Methos. This time Joe glared at him.  
  
"He wanted to use his powers as weapons in his personal crusade," Cassandra went on. "He could cast amazing illusions, but only for a few seconds. I saw him teleport once--"  
  
"What?!" said Joe, almost spilling his coffee again.  
  
"Only a few feet, but he did it. He could change his appearance -- I don't know if that was illusion or actual transformation -- but it lasted only a short while. I simply wouldn't teach him any meditative techniques for lengthening the time." Cassandra shivered. "I know he planned to go elsewhere for training, but then I heard he'd gone to Sanctuary, and I didn't know what to think."  
  
Joe and Methos looked at each other, then back to Cassandra.  
  
"He spent ten years in Sanctuary," said Joe, "And then Jacob Kell yanked him out of it. He died soon after. Whatever he was planning, it didn't happen."  
  
"That's what I can't be sure of." Cassandra chewed her lip for a moment. "His mission -- and his family, including Duncan -- meant everything to him. He wouldn't have hesitated a moment to give up his life for them."  
  
"He did give up his life for Duncan," Methos almost whispered.  
  
Cassandra gave him a hard look. "That's what I wonder about. Did he intend, all along, to give Duncan his powers? Was that his fall-back plan?"  
  
"What?" Methos looked almost dazed: a rare expression for him.  
  
Cassandra took a long, slow sip of her coffee before answering. "Think. Duncan got Connor's powers, with his Quickening. How long before they start to manifest?"  
  
Joe saw it before Methos did. "He won't know how to use them. He'll need you to train him."  
  
"So that's what you're after," said Methos. His eyes narrowed. "Since we've made a habit of thinking the worst of each other, try this. How do we know you don't want to get Duncan off alone somewhere, then take his head and get the powers for yourself?"  
  
Joe grabbed Cassandra's arm before she could hurl the coffee.  
  
"That's what you'd think of me, isn't it?" Methos went on. "That's why you didn't want me to know. Now, why shouldn't I suspect the same of you?"  
  
"Damn you!" Cassandra sputtered, "I've saved his life several times over!"  
  
"So have I."  
  
"You did that for your own purposes!"  
  
"So did you."  
  
"What purposes? What did I have to gain from helping him?"  
  
"The fulfillment of your oh-so-holy prophecies. You believe in those, as much as Connor believed in his mission."  
  
Cassandra gaped at him.  
  
"And I notice," Methos went on, "That all the times you saved Duncan's head, you managed never to risk your own -- as I did. So tell me, who's the greater danger to him now?"  
  
Cassandra opened her mouth, closed it, then gave him a grim smile. "If Duncan doesn't get the training," she said, "Then he won't be able to control those powers. Who knows what else Connor gave him that he won't be able to control? What if he absorbed Connor's mission, too? Then someday he'll judge you to be evil, unworthy of the Prize, and he'll take your head. Have you thought about that?"  
  
Methos quietly drained his cup and set it down. "It'll never happen," he answered. "That I know for a fact."  
  
"Oh?" Cassandra sneered. "Are you planning to take his head so soon? Or did you get that from some prophecy?"  
  
"Not very observant, are you?" Methos replied. "did you happen to notice, during the last act of that little farce in Bordeaux, that Duncan and I shared a Quickening?"  
  
"Shared...?" Cassandra stopped, remembering.  
  
"Duncan killed Kronos, and I took Silas' head, in the same instant. The Quickenings interlocked. Didn't you notice the power streaming down the corridor and back? Double Quickening: shared Quickening."  
  
"And that means?" Cassandra wasn't about to admit ignorance.  
  
"It means we're psychically linked. What he feels, I feel. And vice-versa."  
  
"Holy shit!" Joe caught it.  
  
"It means I can't kill him, Cassandra. I can't even hurt him. And he can't kill me."  
  
"Linked-- You--" Cassandra stared at him. "So you've corrupted him!"  
  
"Less than he's corrupted me. I'm stuck with his damned conscience." Methos gave a sudden laugh. "Gods, I've never believed in any damned prophecies -- not even the big one -- and this destroys it!"  
  
"Explain?" Joe asked, very politely.  
  
"It means that so long as both of us live, there won't be Only One! Not even the Gathering, whatever that is, could make us turn on each other. The Prize, whatever that is, will never be won. Go tell the Watchers that; tell them they can stop worrying and plotting. The Game is over!"  
  
Joe and Cassandra looked at him, then at each other.  
  
"Then you can all live in peace..." Joe whispered.  
  
"...So long as both of them live," Cassandra finished.  
  
Methos gave her a slit-eyed look. "So Duncan and I, and the Watchers, have more to fear from you than you do from us," he said. "Go add that to your prophecies."  
  
Cassandra set down her cup, looking dazed. Joe wondered just what other prophecies she was thinking about. She got to her feet and almost blindly wandered toward the doorway.  
  
At the door she stopped and collected herself. "Tell Duncan, when he wakes up," she said, "That I have to see him. He really will need the training."  
  
She opened the door and walked out, closing it behind her. Methos watched after her until the buzz of her presence faded.  
  
"Methos," Joe asked quietly, "Did you say that just to get Cassandra off your back, or is it really true?"  
  
"The shared Quickening? The psychic link? It's true. Ask Duncan sometime; he's the one who discovered it." Methos peered bleakly into his coffee-cup. "It's also true that I seem to have caught some of his conscience. I can't leave him, and I can't go against him."  
  
"You're tied to him," Joe finished.  
  
Methos set the cup down. "So much for my wandering days," he sighed. "So much for carefully avoiding entanglements."  
  
"So much for the eternal chameleon," Joe guessed the rest of it. "Proteus Bound."  
  
Methos leaned back and gazed at the ceiling. "I'm sure there's a marvelous play in there somewhere," he murmured. "What a pity nobody does classical Greek Tragedy anymore."  
  
Joe reached for the nearest carafe. "Have another coffee," was all he said.  
  
  
\--END-- 

* * *

This story originally archived at <http://hlfiction.net/viewstory.php?sid=835>


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